When I was a young man a-courtin' the girls,
I played me a waitin' game;
If a maid refused me with a toss of her curls,
I'd let the ol' world take a couple of twirls,
And I'd ply her with tears instead of pearls,
And as time came around she came my way,
As time came around, she came.
But it's a long, long time from May to December,
And the days grow short when you reach September;
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame,
One hasn't got time for the waiting game.
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few...
Sep-tem-ber...No-vem-ber...
And these few precious days I'll spend with you,
These precious days I'll spend with you.
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few...
Sep-tem-ber...No-vem-ber...
And these few precious days I'll spend with you,
These precious days
I'll spend with you.
When you meet with the young men in the early Spring
They'll count you with wine and with song
They'll woo you with words and a clover ring
But if you examine the goods that they bring
They have little to offer but the songs that they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of day
A plentiful waste of time
(Repeat Refrain)
